The Mystical, Magical, Cool, Radical Tale of Darkfur and Adjectivenoun
by ham on italian bread w cheese
Summary: Yo, I have absolutely no knowledge of Warrior Cats except that they are cats, that they form clans, and they fight a lot. So I decided that I would write the best Warrior Cats fanfiction this world has ever seen. There's another summary in the story itself, so read that one, too. Or don't. Also, shit, there's a character called Egg? That's dumb.


_Yo, I have absolutely no knowledge of Warrior Cats except that they are cats, that they form clans, and they fight a lot. With that in mind, I am now going to write the best Warrior Cats fanfiction in one sitting and then submit it. Let's peep this out._

Adjectivenoun sat around the Fishclan hunting grounds, looking extremely sad and crying cat tears onto the ground out of her cat eyes. She was a brown furred cat with striking blue eyes that were as blue as a thing that was extremely blue, an example of which would be the ocean as depicted in most media. If you really look at it, though, it's more of a greenish colour due to various plants and fish waste and other such things. However, let's ignore that for the time being and return to Adjectivenoun's story. So, she's sitting around and being all sad and such, when suddenly another cat arrives! It is none other than Darkfur, the blackest cat around. His fur is super black, and can most easily be compared to a thing that is equally black, one of these things would be charcoal. In case you don't know what charcoal is, charcoal is wood that has been fire treated in such a way that all moisture is removed from it without reducing it to ash. Essentially, this creates an extremely dry wood that is very good for fuel. That's completely irrelevant, because Darkfur is not made of charcoal and has no similarity to it, apart from the fact that he is also black. So, Darkfur goes up to Adjectivenoun and starts meowing. We wouldn't be able to understand him, as he is a cat, and therefor does not speak English. However, thanks to the power of writing and imagination, I am able to translate his cat speech into English words. I will do so now.

"Yo, Adjectivenoun, why you bein' so bitch all cryin' and sheeeiiit?" meowed Darkfur, taking a purple plastic comb out of his considerable afro and combing it to a feature finish. Darkfur did not need to use hair gel to style his afro, as he produced such immense amounts of grease that his hair naturally held its place. This peculiar ability also enabled him to do things such as never get stuck on slides, oil wrestle without any external source of oil, and generally be incredibly fucking gross and disgusting. Nobody talks to Darkfur because of this and a variety of other reasons, not the least of which being that he was black and stole shit all the time. Let me tell you, folks, there is a reason why black cats are so demonized in folk lore. It's the exact same reason that black people are terrible in real life. Have you guessed why yet? It's because all they do is steal things, murder, eat fried chicken and watermelon, drink purple drank, and generally be incredibly niggardly.

"Kit dirt carrionplace cat moon drypaw foxbreath elder," gurgled Adjectivenoun, spraying massive amounts of cat spittle all over the ground in front of her. Foam began frothing at the edges of her mouth and spilling onto the ground as she went into convulsions, quickly toppling over onto the ground. Within moments, she was dead as shit. It was pretty obvious that she had rabies or some shit. I mean, cats in the wild die all the time of diseases and shit, unless they get eaten by some other predator beforehand. Honestly, I haven't read the books, but I'm pretty sure they don't depict cats dying of easily preventable diseases nearly enough. Hey, is Garfield in Warrior Cats? He would be so fucking pissed to be in Warrior Cats, he would have no lasagna to eat. I mean, it's not like you can hunt lasagna in the wilderness, and it doesn't grow on trees. The real question is whether he would kill himself or go insane and start attacking random cats from lasagna withdrawal, forcing the others to put him down. I'm betting on the first, he'd probably be too lazy to mount an attack on another cat, it's much easier to kill yourself than someone else. Oh yeah, I forgot, this is a story and not a rant about Garfield.

"Sheeeit, nigga-" Wait, hold on, author here. What would the cat equivalent of nigga be? I mean, presumably cats wouldn't say nigga, that's kind of a human exclusive term. Alright, let's do some brainstorming. What are the roots of the term nigga? Obviously, the proper form is nigger, which derives from different languages' words for black. Shit, Darkfur is black, so it still applies. This whole tangent has been completely pointless, so let's get back to the dialogue. "those ain't words, that's sum gobbledegook." With that, Darkfur bounded up to Adjectivenoun and flopped out his spiky cat johnson, rubbing it all over the face of the dead feline. It was wet and smelled like three dead fish combined into one, ultra pungent dead fish. Overall, it was pretty gross, and Adjectivenoun would probably throw up if she wasn't incredibly dead. Darkfur, as a black cat, was completely oblivious to how disgusting the act he was committing was and continued doing it until he splooged all over Adjectivenoun's face.

"Muthafucka bix nood!" screeched Darkfur, so overwhelmed by the feelings of pleasure that he had reverted to a more primal state of niggardry. I know, it's pretty amazing that there are levels of primalness in niggardry. You'd kind of assume that all niggardry was immediately at the most primal level, but it actually ranges from wild animal to nearly human in behaviour. Anyway, after he had dropped his baby cream, Darkfur proceeded to rapidly retract his johnson into his sheath like a tape measure, making a similar snapping noise as it slammed back into place. With his pisser repackaged, he backflipped out of the hunting ground, returning to his nigger hole for the night in order to gorge himself on disgusting amounts of chicken and probably rape another, more live woman before going to sleep.

Well, the main character is dead and her murderer has just backflipped out of the scene, so I suppose this story is done. I don't really feel like finishing yet, though, so we're gonna go off on another tangent. What am I gonna talk about, though? Hrm, I suppose I'll tell you all about the bad jerk off I had once. I know, you are all in shock, screaming up at me "ham on italian bread w cheese, what do you mean bad jerk off! There can be no such thing!". I was as shocked as you no doubt are now when I found out that it was a bad jerk off, for I didn't know it was a bad jerk off at the time, but only found out much later. This story begins with me whipping out my pork sword, which was at full horny levels and was ready for a sensual massage. I reached for my bottle of lube like any other jerk session, only to find that it was utterly empty. It is times like this where you have to improvise, and so I did, going into my bathroom and retrieving a bottle of cocoa butter body wash. This was what I used to replace my jerk lotion, and it was a cool wank indeed, with my love gravy splurting in much greater amounts than usual.

Unfortunately, it was not all biscuits and love gravy. I did not wash off the body wash from my dongle, and if you have done your research on the topic, you will know that most body washes tend to dry out the skin if not washed off with water. After all, they are meant to be used in the shower. This is exactly what happened to me, on my most sensitive of areas. The day after my wacking, I would discover that my tally wacker was covered in peeling skin! I reacted as any man would, and began peeling off strips of skin from my poker. To be honest, this was probably not the best course of action I could've taken, and it left many raw areas on my dong that made it nearly impossible to jerk. The key word is nearly, as I jerked anyway, enduring the pain and no doubt worsening my condition. As I was jerking still and no doubt impeding the healing process, I had to take matters into my own hands to accelerate the healing process, otherwise I would never return to my original penile state. My first course of action was to stop the dryness, so that my skin would stop peeling and no further injury would occur. A bit of online research revealed that a good way to heal dry skin was by applying pretty much any oil. I used olive oil, via a piece of folded toilet paper saturated with the stuff that I wrapped around the dry areas. Although this did end up staining a few pairs of boxers, it worked wonders on the dryness, which was gone in a matter of days.

This left the matter of the injuries that I had already sustained. There was pretty much nothing I could do to accelerate the healing in that department other than totally abstaining from jerking, which I obviously did not do. After all, jerking is the one thing that separates us from animals, the ability to transcend our natural sex drives by satisfying them with our own two hands (or, in the case of others, masturbatory aids). Although it took quite some time, my dongle injuries eventually closed up even while being frequently ripped open by my vigorous jerking schedule. There isn't really much more to this story. I could tell you another one, but honestly, I feel that this is quickly approaching the perfect length. I suppose I'll close it off with a spaceship emoticon. Enjoy. **(_)_)===============================D**


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